‘OK, I’ll see what I can do, but I’m sure it’s nothing.’
‘Thanks. I really appreciate it.’ And it sounded like she did.
I took her number in Leeds and said I’d get back to her one way or another in the next few days. We talked for a few moments longer, but the conversation was stilted and uncomfortable. Far too much water had passed under the bridge, and I was happy to hang up. Jean Ashcroft had been a good-looking girl once upon a time, and good company too, but now she was nothing more than a half-forgotten part of my past. Danny had really fucked up by talking to her. He’d seemed fine the other night at the pub quiz. We’d had a few drinks, a few laughs, and had even come a close second to the winners, and when I’d left him he’d been OK. Not exactly full of the joys of spring, but OK nevertheless. It was clear, however, that being cooped up at home for much of the time, with just himself for company, was making him seriously paranoid, and that was dangerous. Fuck knows what he’d do if they ever really got close. I was going to have to give him a good talking to. Knock some sense into him. Get him to calm down.
What was it that American president once said? The only thing we have to fear is fear. Well, Danny feared fear, and it was beginning to make him a liability.
14
At 11.55 that morning the results from the lab came back confirming that hair samples found on the shirt belonged to Mark Wells, and that it could safely be surmised that the shirt belonged to him.
At 12.10, the questioning of Mark Wells by DCI Knox and DI Welland recommenced. The suspect still denied any involvement in the crime and became hysterical when told of the new evidence against him, at one point attempting to assault both the officers present. He had to be physically restrained before questioning could continue. His solicitor then requested some time alone with his client to discuss these new developments, and this was granted.
At 12.35, the questioning once again resumed, Wells’s solicitor sticking to the position that his client had had nothing to do with the murder of Miriam Fox. However, neither he nor Wells could offer any realistic explanation as to why the shirt had been found so close to the murder scene covered in the victim’s blood. Wells suggested that it must have been stolen.
At 1.05, twenty-seven-year-old Mark Jason Wells was formally charged with the murder of eighteen-year-old Miriam Ann Fox. For the second time that day, he had to be physically restrained from attacking his interrogators. During the ensuing altercation, his solicitor was accidentally struck in the face by Wells and required medical treatment for a bloody nose. In a rare moment of wit, DS Capper later claimed this to be a double result for the Metropolitan Police.
At 2.25, still a little sleepy from my canteen lunch of lasagne and garden vegetables, I was called into Knox’s office.
Knox was sitting behind his spotless desk looking serious, which surprised me a little under the circumstances. ‘Hello, Dennis. Thanks for coming in. Sit down.’ He waved to a seat. ‘You’ve heard the news, then?’
‘About charging Wells? Yes, sir, DI Welland told me.’
‘DI Welland’s had to go home, I’m afraid.’
‘He didn’t look too good, sir, I have to admit.’
‘He isn’t, I’m afraid. In fact, he hasn’t been his best for some time.’ I didn’t say anything, so he continued. ‘He went for some tests a couple of weeks ago and he received the results this morning.’ I felt a mild sense of dread. Knox sighed loudly. ‘He only told me after we’d charged Wells. I’m afraid DI Welland has prostate cancer. There’s going to be an official announcement this afternoon.’
‘Jesus.’ What a day. ‘I knew something was wrong but I didn’t think it would be anything like that. How bad is it?’
‘Well, it’s cancer, so it’s bad. As to whether it’s terminal or not, I don’t know. Neither do the doctors. A lot depends on how he responds to treatment and his overall attitude.’
‘There won’t be anything wrong with that. The DI’s a fighter.’
I suddenly felt like crying, which is something I haven’t done in a long, long time. It was the injustice of it all. Here was a man who for thirty years had been trying to do the right thing and he was repaid with a life-threatening illness, while there were criminals and politicians out there who’d spent just as much time trying to line their own pockets and were as healthy as a new heart. The moment passed, and I asked Knox if he minded if I smoked.
‘No-one should really be smoking in here, especially under the circumstances, but go on then.’ He watched me light it and told me that I ought to give up. ‘It won’t do you any good, you know,’ he told me sternly, which was a statement of the obvious if ever I’d heard one. That’s the problem with health fascists. They never understand that you know as much about the facts as they do.
‘A man’s got to have some pleasures,’ I said, which is my standard defence in these sorts of matters.
‘Perhaps. But anyway, I digress. I didn’t bring you in here to discuss any bad habits you might have. I wanted to speak to you because, at the very minimum, DI Welland’s going to be on sick leave for three months, and I suspect it will be considerably longer. It might even be the case that he never comes back. So we have a temporary vacancy.’
I felt as though I ought to say something at this juncture but, because I couldn’t think what, I kept my mouth shut. I was beginning to get the first stirrings of interest, though. The DI’s position. I could handle that, even if it was only temporary.
‘Obviously we want to promote from within the CID at this station, as that’ll give us the continuity we need, and it’ll give DI Welland the chance to slot back in, when and if he’s able to return to duty.’
‘I understand.’
‘And it’s for that reason we’ve decided to go with DS Capper as the acting DI.’
And to think I’d been getting optimistic. I fought hard not to show my disappointment at being passed over in favour of an idiot like Capper, but it was difficult.
‘I wanted to tell you first before we announced it so that I could explain our reasons.’
‘Which are?’
He gave me the usual management waffle about how Capper had more experience at plainclothes level (there was about two months in it); was better qualified (he’d been on more training and awareness courses than I had, most of which were about as useful as suntan lotion in a snowstorm); and had a more positive attitude towards certain aspects of the job (such as kissing arse).
What can you say to that?
‘That’s not to say that you’re in any way a bad copper, Dennis. Because you’re not. You’re an extremely valued member of the team. I want you to understand that.’
‘I understand, sir,’ I said, hoping that we could bring this bout of making me feel better to a swift end.
‘You’ve done a great job over the years.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I know you’re disappointed.’
‘I’m all right, sir.’
‘That’s understandable, but try to take some positives from it.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Now, to wrap this Miriam Fox case up we have a task that requires experience and tact.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘I want you to go down to see her mother and father and talk them through the progress we’ve made on the case. It’ll be good public relations and it’ll give them an opportunity to bring themselves up to date with what’s been happening. They’ve been told by local police that charges have been laid against the man in custody, but that’s all.’
‘What else do they need to know?’
‘It’s felt both by the Chief Super and myself that they’d benefit from a personal visit by one of our more senior officers. I’d like you to go down there tomorrow morning and take DC Malik with you.’ I think I must have made a face because Knox fixed me with a stern look. ‘Look, Dennis, the Metropolitan Police has one hell of a lot of critics, as you know. Miriam Fox’s father is an influential man and a local Labour council
lor. We need to get people like him on our side.’
There was no point arguing. The decision had been made, so nothing was going to change it. I nodded to show that I understood. ‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Yes, that’s it. Thanks for your understanding., Dennis. I knew you wouldn’t let us down.’
I stood up. ‘I’m sorry about the DI. I’d like to visit him, if it’s possible. When does he begin his treatment?’
‘Monday. I’ll let you have the hospital details when I get them.’
‘Yeah, that would be good. Thanks.’ I took a last drag on the cigarette and looked about for an ashtray. There wasn’t one, so Knox passed me a three-quarters-empty coffee cup with the legend World’s Best Dad scrawled on the side. Better parent than man manager, then. I chucked the butt in and he put the cup back on his desk. ‘It’s good news about Wells, anyway.’
Knox nodded. ‘Yes it is. It’s always good to get a result this quickly.’
‘Did we locate the car he was driving when he picked her up?’
‘Forensics are doing tests on his car at the moment.’
‘And is it a dark-coloured saloon?’
‘It’s a maroon BMW, so I think that counts. It would look dark-coloured at night on a dimly lit street. Why? Do you think there’s a problem?’
I shrugged. ‘Not necessarily. It’s just that when Malik and I ran into him at Miriam Fox’s flat he looked totally shocked to see us, and it was instinctive shock too, not put on. If he’d killed her he’d expect to see coppers at her place. Also, what would he be doing going back there?’
‘Maybe there was some incriminating evidence he wanted to recover.’
‘There wasn’t. We checked the place thoroughly, remember.’
Knox sighed. ‘Dennis, just what do you want us to do? We’ve got a violent pimp with plenty of convictions for assaults against women who’s known to have attacked the victim within the last few weeks and whose shirt was found covered in her blood less than a hundred yards from where she was killed, and who’s so far failed to provide us with any sort of alibi. We can hardly let him go, can we?’
‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the one, does it? You only found the shirt because of a tip-off. And that’s the only thing that really connects him to the murder, isn’t it?’
‘Well, it’s a pretty big thing, don’t you agree? It’s definitely his shirt, it’s got his hair fibres all over it, for Christ’s sake.’ He was beginning to get annoyed now. Knox was a man who liked to feel he was in control, he didn’t like it when people started knocking holes in his theories.
I nodded slowly. ‘True, but it’s still the only connection. And there’s still the little problem of motive. I mean, why did he kill her?’
‘Dennis, what’s your fucking problem? Have you got some alternative theory you’d like to share with us all? Because if not, stop trying to undermine all the work we’ve done.’
I thought about telling him about Molly Hagger’s disappearance and the possibility that there was something more to all this than a simple dispute between a pimp and his whore, but I held back. In a way I was too embarrassed to say something. I had nothing concrete at all, just a few flimsy ideas and that old classic: the instinctive feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
‘No, I don’t have anything else, I’m just concerned we get the right man. The last thing we need is an acquittal and allegations of a frame-up.’
‘I’m glad you’re concerned. It shows you care. But believe me, Mark Wells is our man. If I wasn’t damned sure, I wouldn’t be charging him. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘And, Dennis, bear this in mind.’
‘What, sir?’
‘There hasn’t been a single killing of a prostitute in the whole of the south-east with an MO like Miriam Fox’s, so it’s almost certain it was a one-off. Do you see what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t complicate matters, because a lot of the time they don’t need complicating. Now, can you do me a favour and send DS Capper in?’
And that was that. I left the room without saying another word, wondering just how much worse things could get.
I found Capper over at the photocopier talking to Hunsdon. I told him Knox wanted to see him, and he went off with a sly smile. When he’d gone, I turned to Hunsdon.
‘Have you got those phone records yet?’ I asked him.
‘Yeah, they faxed them through this morning. I’ve got them here somewhere.’ He picked up a pile of papers from the in-tray and went through them quickly.
‘Were they any use?’ I asked him as he searched.
‘Not really,’ he said, handing me two sheets of A4 paper.
I took them off him and glanced down the first page, which detailed outgoing calls. There was a total of ninety-seven listed, all made in the twenty-eight days up until the date of the murder. The left-hand column gave the date and time of each one, the right-hand column identified the numbers called. The second sheet detailed the incoming ones, of which there were fifty-six.
‘These numbers have got no names with them,’ I said, looking up at him.
‘That’s right. That’s why they’re not much use.’
‘Can’t they identify the person each number’s registered to?’
‘Yeah, but apparently that takes a lot longer because it involves more than one company. There’s a lot of cross-checking databases, that sort of thing, but they’re on the case at the moment. I should be getting a list any time now.’
I put the sheets in the copier and ran a copy, giving the originals back to him. ‘Look, can you give me the names of the people you’re dealing with? I don’t mind chasing it.’
He looked at me uncertainly. ‘What’s the point? They’re not going to tell us anything. So she made calls to Wells and he made calls to her. That stands to reason.’
‘Humour me.’
‘The bloke I’ve been dealing with is called John Claire. I’ve got his number back at my desk.’
‘Well, let’s go back and get it, then.’
Reluctantly he returned to his desk with me in tow and dug out the number. I got the feeling he hadn’t exactly been pushing himself to get the information on Miriam’s records, but that was Hunsdon for you. He wasn’t a bad copper in many ways, but he was a lazy bastard, and not the best at performing routine tasks, especially when he thought the tasks themselves were a bit pointless.
I wrote the number down and he asked me again what the point of chasing it up was.
It was, I suppose, a good question. I think at that precise moment my interest stemmed from a real desire to put one over on Knox and Capper and wipe the smiles off their faces. Maybe Wells was the man responsible for Miriam’s murder, but it just didn’t seem to me to be as cut and dried as they all thought. For the sake of a couple of phone calls, I was more than happy to be the one who proved them wrong.
15
There were seven numbers which came up more than three times among the phone calls to and from Miriam Fox’s mobile, and I decided to concentrate on finding out who they belonged to, as well as all the numbers she’d either called or received calls from during the last three days of her life. It was quite possible that they wouldn’t tell me anything; even if they did, it was still going to be extremely difficult to get Knox to authorize any further investigation, particularly now that he’d charged Wells. But I still felt it was worth a try.
I called John Claire from my desk, but his line was busy. I lit and smoked a cigarette down to the butt and called him again, but it was still engaged. He was obviously a hard-working boy. I was going to give it five minutes and try him again but I never got the chance. A knifepoint robbery had occurred at a backstreet newsagent’s less than half a mile from the station and I was ordered to attend with Malik to take statements from the proprietor and any witnesses. We were there for about an hour, trying to calm down the proprietor’s wife, who’d had a knife held against her throat by a kid of no more t
han thirteen while his five laughing mates had ransacked the place. The husband, who’d been out at the wholesaler’s, was distraught. He harangued us and society in general for turning out kids who thought so little of using violence. We didn’t try to argue with him. He was right. I told them we’d do what we could to apprehend the perpetrators and thanked them for their help. We then got a squad car to take the wife to hospital for a check-up and returned to the station to file our report.
At ten past five, I tried John Claire’s number again. This time he answered immediately. I explained who I was and why I was phoning.
‘Yeah, I was dealing with one of your colleagues, DC…?’
‘Hunsdon.’
‘That’s right. I was trying to get together some information for him. Telephone records.’
‘Yeah, I know. How far are you down the line? It’s just I need them pretty quickly.’
‘I’ve already sent them,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘I emailed them to him this morning.’
‘No, we’ve got the actual numbers, it’s the people they belong to we need to know. Who the phones are registered to.’
‘Yeah, I know. That’s what I sent him. I sent him a list with the numbers on it yesterday. I had to chase down the names of the people and it took a bit of time. I said as soon as I got the information I’d get it across to him. And I did. This morning.’
Clearly, Hunsdon hadn’t been checking his mail. I lit a cigarette. ‘Maybe the network’s down here today or something. Can you send it again?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘I’ll give you two places to send it to, just to make sure it goes through.’ I reeled off my work and home addresses, and waited while he wrote them down. ‘And can you do it immediately, please?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, sounding a little nervous. ‘No problem, officer.’
I thanked him, and hung up.
The mail hadn’t arrived when, ten minutes later, Capper phoned through and asked to see me in Welland’s office for a quick chat. He was sitting behind Welland’s desk looking far too comfortable when I went in.
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